For the Love of Anne Read online

  “You mean you did it for my sake?”

  “Partly, but mostly I did it for mine. I did not want you to die after accusing me of trying to kill you.” He paused and moved to sit in the chair beside her. “It seems I was right. You are able to leave your bed, although you still do not seem well. Perhaps a taste of fresh air might aid you.”

  “It might.” Mary wondered if she should mention the gossip she had just that minute heard from the servant, but she decided to find out for certain if it were true. “I hear congratulations are in order, My Lord,” she said.

  He gave her a puzzled frown.

  “How so?”

  “I was told your whore had given you a daughter,” she said. “Isabel, is it not?”

  He made no reply. He had hoped to keep the child a secret as well as his relationship with her mother, but it mattered not at all. It was not as though he loved the woman; he would never love anyone but Anne, but he would willingly support his daughter.

  “I am entitled to comfort from someone,” he replied. “Yes, I have a daughter and I shall support her, and I am fond of her mother, but I do not love her.”

  “Of course not. You still love the Boleyn trollop.”

  “I know not why you must call her that. She is no such thing, as you well know, and I cannot believe it is jealousy that fuels your words.”

  “No, certainly not jealousy,” said Mary. “How would you feel if you were forced to marry a woman you knew was in love with someone else?”

  “I would likely feel the same,” he said. “It would certainly cause an unhappy marriage.”

  “Well then, why should I not resent the bitch?”

  Harry felt his fingers twitching with the need to strike out and he wondered if he would ever feel less defensive of Anne. He knew this conversation was going nowhere. How could it, when there was no solution to their problems? Before he could change the subject, a servant appeared to announce the arrival of the Duke of Norfolk.

  “Well, we are honoured to have such an exalted visitor,” said Harry sarcastically.

  Mary looked up hopefully. Norfolk was her ally and he knew it, but she wondered if she would be permitted to see him or if Harry would send him away as he had her father’s servants.

  The Duke waited in the great hall, seated in the most comfortable armchair as though he were the master of the house, but he got to his feet when Harry appeared.

  “Your Grace,” Harry said at once. “I am honoured by your visit, but also puzzled. You seem to know everything I am doing by means of my wife. What else is there to know?”

  “You are wrong, My Lord,” he said. “But no matter. I came not to discover your movements but to relay my concerns, and Lord Shrewsbury’s concerns, about the way you have been treating your wife.”

  “Really, Your Grace? And what business is that of yours?”

  “I was asked to come here, to tell you it has gone on long enough. You must change your ways, you must treat Lady Mary with affection and respect. She has done her best to be a good wife to you.”

  “Is that what she told you? Well, I beg to differ, but that is neither here nor there. The fact of the matter is, her father forced this marriage on her, even whilst knowing that I loved another woman. He can hardly complain now that the marriage is unsuccessful. What else would he expect?”

  “You could never have had Anne Boleyn. That is obvious now.”

  “It is, but it was not obvious then and I did love her. I still do.”

  “That is dangerous talk, My Lord.”

  “Perhaps.” Harry paused and looked at the Duke thoughtfully. “What do you want me to do? I cannot love Mary; I cannot even like her.”

  “But you must. You have sworn to it.”

  Suddenly it was all too much. He deeply resented the intrusion into his private affairs and he knew well that both he and Mary would be happier apart.

  “I’ll tell you what you must do,” he said at last. “You must take her with you. Return her to her father. I should be happy never to see her again as long as I live.”

  He turned then, left the Duke open jawed and went upstairs to Mary’s bedchamber, where she still waited to see if he was going to give the Duke access to her. He sat in the chair beside her.

  “What have you been telling your father?” he said. “First he sends his servants with letters accusing me of beating you, and I know you told him I tried to poison you. Now he sends his ally to tell me how to behave.”

  “You did hit me,” she answered.

  “Once, years ago.” He got to his feet and turned to look down at her. “Norfolk is downstairs, waiting to take you with him and return you to your father. Are you well enough to travel?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I think it would be the best thing for us both if we parted. Do you not concede?”

  “Well,” she said. “It seems we have finally found something on which we can agree.”

  “I will be happy if I never see you again and I am sure you feel the same.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  A Royal Bastard

  ANNE WAS RECOVERING from sweating sickness, which had taken her away from court at last. She had never been so ill in her life and even there, Henry would not leave her in peace to rest. He had to write several times a week, had to send his emissaries to see how she fared, and at times she wished herself dead.

  Nobody knew that she still corresponded with Harry Percy and if the King found out, it would likely be the end of Harry. She hoped that this time away from Henry might make him realise he could do without her, that he need not alienate the country by divorcing his lawful Queen. She wondered, too, if the country would ever forgive her for being the focus of their King’s ardour, for being his obsession. The lies that were told about her distressed her terribly, but she could do nothing to challenge them.

  People said she was scheming to get her hands on the crown. It was rumoured that she denied the King, refused to satisfy his lust in order to increase his desire, but that was not it, not at all.

  The fact was she did not want him, had never wanted him. She found him unattractive, but although she had told him many truths that no other would have dared to tell him, that was one truth too far. Even she dared not tell him that he was not the handsome young man he had been when he succeeded to the throne.

  Now she was forced to serve the Queen who hated her and Princess Mary who also hated her. But it had lasted for years and she could not persuade the King that she would be happier if he allowed her to marry and have a normal life.

  When she told him she would go chastely to her husband, that she would not give herself to any man outside of marriage, he had assumed she wanted marriage to him. He was so vain, he believed every woman he met fell instantly in love with him. He could never imagine that most of them complied because he was the King and they were afraid to refuse him. Anne was the first one he had met who was not afraid, and not scared to voice her thoughts.

  But now she was recovering from her illness and the King wanted her back at court. It seemed there was no escape.

  Her latest letter from Harry told her that he and his wife had parted, never to see each again and that made her sad. She had wanted nothing but happiness for Harry, even though she longed for him with every waking thought, and it grieved her that his marriage was unhappy and that she was the cause.

  Now the King had taken an unbelievable step; he had started proceedings to divorce Queen Katherine. Anne could hold him at bay no longer; she had tried to tell him she did not want him, but the words never would come out as intended. Always there was the ultimate excuse, that he was a married man and she, Anne, would not give herself outside of marriage, especially not to a married man.

  She would have to return to court, she would have to persuade him, but to tell him the truth would be a death sentence. Either that, or he would refuse to believe her.

  It seemed to Anne that she was trapped and there was no way out. Harry belonged to another, and
now it was dangerous for her to keep up their correspondence. She had to write that last letter, had to tell him she could write no more.

  And she would have to comply with the King’s wishes. She did not want to give in to him, to let him have his way with her and perhaps get her with child and discard her like the others. And then, if he released her and allowed her to marry someone, she would not be able to go to her husband a virgin, and that was something that was very important to her.

  There was only one thing to do. She would have to pretend to want this as much as he did and hope that divorcing Katherine proved to be the impossibility she hoped it would.

  MARY HAD GONE AND THE castle seemed strangely empty without her. Not that Harry missed her in the way that he still missed Anne, but he had not yet had time to grow accustomed to not having to worry about her sudden appearance, about the resentment that appearance brought to him. The glares across the table at dinner, the concern that he would never have an heir to the Northumberland title and estates. He was on bad terms with both his brothers and would be sure to avoid leaving the title to either one of them.

  He also never appreciated how much Mary did until servants came to him with questions and requests for instructions that should come from the Countess. Harry would never have thought that sending Mary away would double his workload, but at least she would not be spying on him any more.

  That was when he received the letter. His heart sang as it always did when he saw her seal and he ripped it open, longing to just read her words, even though they had nothing new to impart. But she would write that she loved him still, that she hoped one day the King would grow tired and he might be able to free himself from Mary through an annulment.

  But they were all empty dreams and deep down they both knew it. This letter killed those dreams, this letter told him firmly that he had been fooling himself all these years.

  She said she would not be able to write to him again. She told him of the King’s plans to divorce the Queen and marry her and that it would be too dangerous for them both to keep up their correspondence.

  That correspondence was all he had left of the love of his life and she was telling him he was about to lose it. Harry felt like crying.

  BACK AT COURT, ANNE felt herself out of place. Things had changed since her illness, people looked at her differently and a few people asked her to intervene with the King on various matters. That was new and not something in which she wanted to involve herself. She still hoped to be free of him, not immerse herself even more in his affections. She would ask for nothing, so he would have nothing with which to reproach her when the time came.

  But back in the Queen’s household, several of the other maids of honour gave her evil looks and the Queen herself glared at her. She asked nothing of her so that Anne felt no more real than one of the statues about the place.

  Henry came to her apartment at the first opportunity, his smile one of delight to have her back and fully recovered. He held out his arms to her, but she did not move into them. He seemed not to notice as he pulled her toward him and kissed her. Neither did he notice the grimace as she smelled his breath.

  “Sweetheart,” he said. “I have missed you so. And I need your counsel. I have finally realised what God has been telling me all this time.”

  “And what is that, Your Grace?”

  “That my marriage to Katherine was never a true one, never lawful. She was my brother’s widow and marrying her was against God’s law; it says so clearly enough in the Bible.”

  “The Bible has not changed, has it?” she said bitterly. “It had the same rule then, when you married Katherine?”

  “It did and the Pope should never have given me a dispensation to marry her. It was his fault.”

  Of course, it would be anyone’s fault but not his, not Henry’s.

  “But he did give that dispensation. Therefore, your marriage was lawful.”

  “Do you not see, sweetheart?” he insisted. “It is the reason I have one useless girl and nothing but dead boys. God is telling me it is because I went against Him, because I defied His law.”

  “Henry, think carefully about this. You are like a child who has never been refused anything and now, because you have found something you cannot have, you must have it no matter what.”

  He stepped back, pushed her roughly away.

  “How dare you! You speak to your King that way?”

  “Did you not tell me once that when you are with me you are not a King, but a man like any other?”

  “I did, but still it was a cruel thing to say.”

  “It was the truth.”

  He slowly shook his head, turned away and was silent for a few minutes. Then he turned back to her, his smile in place once more.

  “I know what you are doing, Anne,” he said. “You are so warm and caring, you are trying to protect Katherine. Is that not it?”

  “Protect Katherine? Yes, I would like to protect Katherine. She has been a good and faithful wife to you and now you would discard her when she is inconvenient. How do I know you’ll not do the same to me?”

  “It is different with you. I never loved Katherine.”

  “You did.”

  “Not as I love you. I would never betray you.”

  “You will do as you wish, Sire,” she said. “I can say nothing that will dissuade you.”

  He failed to notice the defeat in her voice.

  SO IT BEGAN. CARDINAL Wolsey assembled a jury of churchmen and nobles to try the case of the King’s marriage, whether it be lawful, and Henry hoped for a speedy outcome in his favour.

  He declared before the court that his marriage was an abomination, against God’s law, that the Almighty was telling him clearly His will, by denying him healthy sons.

  Anne knew that was untrue, that had Katherine given him an heir he would never have considered such a thing, and she listened intently, praying the eminent jurors would not be fooled by such a plea. But it seemed to her that everyone was listening too intently.

  Anne listened, hidden in an alcove, and smiled. This man who had pursued her, this man who would cause a scandal throughout Christendom and risk his own soul for her, could persuade himself that black was white if such was to his advantage.

  After weeks of deliberation, the court decided they could give no verdict and Cardinal Wolsey declared it was beyond his learning to give one either. He would send to Rome for instructions; the Pope must decide.

  Henry was enraged. He came to Anne’s apartment, poured himself wine and turned to her while she hid her face, hoping he would not notice her complacency.

  “I am the King of England!” he shouted. “When I pray, God answers and He has told me what I must do. How dare they think the Pope’s word takes precedence over God’s!”

  “But Henry, the Pope is the head of the Church. He must decide what is right, surely. He is the authority on God’s law.”

  “God is the authority on God’s law.” He sat beside her, took her hand. “Forgive me, Anne. I know this is as hard for you as it is for me.”

  No! No it is not hard for me!

  “Henry,” she said soothingly, “perhaps this outcome is God’s way of telling you our love is not to be.”

  “What are you saying?” He caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately. “We will be together! I have sworn to make you my queen and I shall keep that promise. To hell with the Pope. Who is he to tell the King of England what to do?”

  She pulled his head to her and stroked his hair, sighed resignedly. She knew then, knew that he would have his own way eventually, no matter how long it took, no matter how many lives he trampled on to get there.

  And once he had achieved his goal, what would become of that goal? What would become of Anne?

  THE PAPAL LEGATE CAME at last, after months of waiting, to begin a new trial to decide whether King Henry’s marriage to Queen Katherine was lawful or not.

  Cardinal Campeggio arrived in London just before Yuletide, sent by
the Pope at the request of Cardinal Wolsey, who had been unable to try the case himself.

  The Italian Cardinal was ancient and the long journey had been a deterrent to his health. The court could not sit until after the Christmas festivities and holy days, then the Cardinal was sent to Katherine, to advise her that her best option would be to retreat to a convent.

  He was shocked when she refused.

  “I am a married woman,” she protested. “I will remain a married woman.”

  Then she produced the dispensation given by Pope Julius II which allowed her marriage to take place. She had sworn before God that her marriage to Prince Arthur, Henry’s brother, had not been consummated and that had suited Henry at the time. Now he wanted to be rid of her, he produced witnesses to remember Arthur’s boasting, the morning after his wedding night, when he declared himself thirsty because he had spent the night ‘deep inside Spain’.

  Arthur was fifteen and embarrassed that he had been unable to perform his marital duty, but rather than admit that, he boasted of the opposite.

  This bragging was also dismissed as such when Henry wanted to marry his widow; now he wanted rid of her, so that he could marry Anne, he decided to believe his late brother’s words.

  It was June before the trial began, as Cardinal Campeggio delayed at every turn and when the King discovered that he did not have the full authority of the Pope after all, he was infuriated.

  The atmosphere inside the court was filled with tension and gloom. The parties involved showed little emotion, but it was apparent that they were both tense and for different reasons.

  Henry wanted only to obtain his divorce, to be told that he was right, God was telling him he had committed a terrible sin by marrying his brother’s widow. But all the time he knew well his real reasons for wanting to be rid of Katherine; he wanted Anne Boleyn and she would accept nothing less than marriage. He also wanted a son, which Katherine could no longer give him. Which of these was the more important to Henry, it was difficult to tell, but it was a fact that the Tudor dynasty was too new to survive without a direct heir to the throne.